


remedial practice on the target range

by malfaisant



Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 18:35:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7065472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malfaisant/pseuds/malfaisant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But back to the point, which is that Ray notices things, and puts two and two and <i>two</i> together like a math wiz, and the result is Ray on his knees, staring up at Fraser through the thick black frames of his glasses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	remedial practice on the target range

It wasn’t quite an accident, finding out. Ray had been on the lookout for it, in the way he’d been on the lookout for everything in his ongoing quest to discover every single thing that drives Fraser absolutely nutso. Good cops are observant, and he’s a damn good cop. He notices stuff, and good thing he does, ‘cause Fraser is amazing at everything except for asking for what he wants. Or he’s amazing at everything, which happens to include repression and self-denial.

He’s better now than how they were at the start, after Ray’s relentless campaign to convince Fraser that it’s okay to want things. His winning strategy is convincing Fraser that _Ray_ absolutely wants things, wants anything and everything Fraser’s willing to give, and it’s true. List of things that Ray is good at: observation, wanting stuff. Want want want, can’t stop wanting, even back when it was killing him.

But Ray’s better now too. He wants and that’s okay, and he pays attention and discovers some interesting shit. Fraser loves kissing him. Fraser loves kissing him with his glasses on. Fraser loves mussing and playing with his hair. Fraser loves his hands, loves putting them in his mouth, sucking on his fingers, teeth grazing his knuckles. Fraser loves putting his mouth _everywhere_ , which is possibly the least surprising thing in the world, given his proclivity for licking everything short of hazardous nuclear waste. Oral fixation doesn’t even begin to cover it.

(He’s not criticizing—Fraser licks stuff off the sidewalk, Ray smokes when he can get away with it and pops a toothpick in his mouth when he can’t.)

Not to be outdone, because he has a competitive streak a mile-wide, and possibly also as revenge for introducing words like “proclivity” into his lingo, Ray makes it a point to suck Fraser’s considerable brain through his equally considerable dick on a regular basis.

To be fair, it isn’t all Fraser’s fault, involuntary expansion of his vocabulary notwithstanding. Ray Kowalski is great at sucking cock. Stanley Raymond Kowalski is a _champion_ at blowjobs. Probably in the running for second least surprising thing in the world, but it’s not like he advertises. He’s had a lot of practice, from that immediate post-Stella period where the main objective had been to get as far away as possible from anything that could remotely remind him of Stella. A big, fat dick in his mouth, the bitter-salty taste of come on his tongue, like some fucked up palate cleanser in some all too literal efforts to chase away the lingering aftertaste of heartbreak—he’s a literal kind of guy, so that’s just the story of how Ray’s gag reflex gave up on life entirely.

It’s a bit of a sad origin story, but he can’t regret it, not when he can make Fraser make the noises he does. Ray loves cock, especially Fraser’s. _Quelle surprise,_ as the Canadiens would say.

Okay, the actual surprise is that Fraser absolutely loves it too. _Not_ his own cock, but his cock in Ray’s mouth. Fraser loves fucking his mouth, coming in his mouth, down his throat. Coming on _his face._ Ray never would’ve guessed that last one in a million years, ‘cause it’s just so…ungentlemanly. _It’s not polite, Ray_ , the Fraser-voice in his head would say. Used to say. Turns out the Fraser-voice in his head is a fucking liar.

Real Fraser isn’t much better, in that he would still never say it out loud, but like Ray’s said, he’s improving! And the important thing is that Ray _knows_ Fraser loves it, dead giveaway being how he kisses him senseless right after, how he licks every single drop of come in his mouth, on his lips, on his face. How he’s always game for round two so quickly after that it should make Ray self-conscious, except that after often involves Fraser fucking him stupid, making any thought processes more complex than _wanna come wanna come wanna come_ impossible.

But back to the point, which is that Ray notices things, and puts two and two and _two_ together like a math wiz, and the result is Ray on his knees, staring up at Fraser through the thick black frames of his glasses.

“Ray,” Fraser says breathlessly. His back is flat against their bedroom door, his patrol uniform rumpled, looking like every single one of Ray’s wet dreams all at once. His dick is jutting out of his jeans, standing at attention an inch from Ray’s face, almost painfully hard.

“Shouldn’t—shouldn’t you—” he tries to say, the words breaking off as Ray’s tongue darts out to lick a broad, wet stripe on the underside of his cock.

“Yes, Frase?”

“You’re going to kill me, Ray, you’re absolutely going to kill me—”

Ray lets out a small laugh, and wraps his lips around the head of Fraser’s cock. His tongue traces the crown, against the leaking slit, before swallowing him down.

Honestly, the glasses makes things a bit awkward, jostling on his face, the lens smudging where they press against his eyelashes, but it’s worth it, more than worth it, just to see Fraser like this—skin flush, teeth gritted, eyes black with lust. Ray unzips his now achingly tight jeans, takes his own erection in hand, and starts stroking himself in time to Fraser’s moans.

Fraser tangles his fingers through Ray’s hair, and Ray knows it’s taking all he has not to just pull. He splays the other hand on the back of Ray’s head, almost at the nape of his neck, just the slightest pressure pushing Ray forward to take more of his cock.

The thought of it is almost enough to make Ray shoot off, but he has to concentrate. Some other day he’s gonna make Fraser fuck his face proper.

Right now, Fraser’s cock is hard and silky and _hot_ in his mouth, so fucking hot. He bobs his head up and down, his lips kissing his fist where it’s wrapped around the base. The head rubs against the roof of his mouth, nudges the back of his throat, and despite the nice, easy rhythm he knows Fraser’s not gonna last long.

For that matter, neither is Ray.

Fraser is invading his senses, his smell and taste and touch, the goddamn noises he’s making like he actually _is_ dying. Permeates, that’s another Fraser word, he thinks, so he sucks hard, his cheeks hollowing, and hums around the cock in his mouth.

Fraser shudders, his back arching, goes “Ray, Ray, _Ray_ ” like a broken record, a warning, a prayer, and the hand in his hair tightens, pulls just _right_. Ray feels the skin go taut under his tongue, feels it begin to pulse, tastes the bitterness before he lets up, and then there’s come shooting on his face, searing hot on his lips, on his cheeks, on his fucking glasses. He thinks there’s even some in his hair.

Ray strokes him through it, kisses his cock, keeping Fraser just on the edge of too much. The head of Fraser’s dick rubs up against the lens of his glasses, smearing more of his come there, and Ray can’t see much, but it only makes him shiver, like a live wire running up his spine. He speeds up his hand on his own dick until climax blindsides him, makes him see stars.

There’s a moment, then, where both of them just catch their breath, panting like they’ve just run a marathon. Fraser recovers before him—must be all that excess lung capacity—and then he’s pulling Ray up, grabbing the front of his shirt to haul him to his feet. He wraps his hands around Ray’s face and he kisses him, chasing the taste of his own come in Ray’s mouth. Fraser kisses him, deep and hungry and shaking with want.

In the greatest exercise of self-control known to man, Ray pulls away, eventually.

He’s still out of breath, but everything’s a blur behind the mess on his glasses. He pulls them off, considers them thoughtfully as he rests his forehead in the crook of Fraser’s neck.

“Neat,” he says, his voice not a little hoarse. “They’re like…goggles.”

There’s deathly silence for a moment, Fraser going entirely still—and then Ray is laughing uncontrollably, his arms around Fraser’s neck, and Fraser’s laughing too, uncontrolled, unrestrained. He’s still laughing, even as he resumes kissing Ray, eyes crinkled in mirth, smiling against his mouth, and Ray’s noticed this too, that Fraser loves Ray's laughter, possibly just as much as Ray loves his.

**Author's Note:**

> for an [anonymous prompt](http://maximusboltagon.tumblr.com/post/145295400183/fic-promt-due-south-anything-involving-cum-on-ray) on tumblr. thanks to Kiran for the beta and the title, the title is entirely her fault.


End file.
